Pure
by marylinn
Summary: She just wanted to be pure. And he just wanted to get laid. In the end, they got so much more. /2014 realm


**WARNING**

_I'll be taking concepts of the ninja turtles and spinning them with a dark realism and emotional depository, exploring the havoc feral instincts, isolation from humanity, and a warrior's drive can cause to a mutant's psych. so get ready for drama people._

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Chilling winds tore through New York City, masking the sound of clicking heels as a young woman walked back and forth along an isolated street corner, wishing she had worn something warmer to block off the frigid air. In an attempt to warm herself, she pulled her leopard print skirt down a few inches below her bum, fixing her fishnet tights and yanking up the tube top that dressed her chest. Her short, choppy blonde locks billowed about her flushed, make-up smothered cheeks. She wrapped her arms across her chest, holding herself.

Shame is something someone can only take for so long, and each time they are faced with it, the suffering cuts deeper and deeper until the pain is embedded into the soul. The degradation eats away at your mind, making you question yourself, your capabilities and self-worth as you doubt what you can do. You set yourself up for failure every time—the disappointment adding to the disgrace and embarrassment, causing the pain inside to worsen to the point where your very sanity is almost thinking of committing the now very appealing action of suicide.

Haley laughed lifelessly.

She supposed that, at some point, she had lost herself completely, though she couldn't remember when. Maybe her whole life was just a sequence of unfortunate events that would eventually and ultimately lead her to her own demise. She felt no shame anymore, the feeling too familiar now, too comfortable and easy. Now, all Haley felt was . . . emptiness. A nothingness. It was like she was continually floating through an empty abyss that left her feeling strangely hollow. She had become a young, pretty faced doll who did exactly as Frank ordered, taking the pills he gave her and sleeping with the nameless men that bought her for the night, all the while pretending that it would all somehow wash though her one day and leave her body and soul—making her_ pure_ again.

Haley continued to wander up and down the frigid street corner, rubbing her hands together and blowing hot air between the freezing fingers. She folded her arms and leaned against the brick building behind her, bouncing her leg in an attempt to get her blood flowing.

Another car, a rusty van that looked like it was on its last leg, came around the corner—but, unlike the others, it slowed the closer it came. For a few moments, it looked like the man inside was debating on whether or not he should stop.

But he eventually parked right in front of her, the oxidized vehicle stuttering to stop.

Haley pushed off the wall and sashayed forward in a strut that was meant to be sensual, but came off screaming insecure. If a person were to look deep enough they would see her for what she really was: a young woman who was desperately trying to prove she was good enough.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she pulled on a coy smile as she made it beside the car door, the man rolling down the window to reveal a face that was covered in a wool scarf and ski hat, his eyes shaded in a pair of oversized pair of sunglasses. His massive body wore an old trench coat, the outfit almost ripping at the seams from his size. Even from his sitting position in the car he was still a head taller than her.

Haley swallowed, her smile wobbling, "'You looking for some company?" she asked.

The man shuffled and looked around, clearing his throat, "I uh . . . yeah." His muffled voice was surprisingly young and Haley found her curiosity growing, wondering what was under all that clothing. "'How much?"

"It'll be a hundred for a quickie," she continued, brushing back the short hair that whipped around her face, "And three-hundred for the whole night."

He nodded and reached into his pocket, pulled out a surprisingly large wad of bills, "Will this be enough?"

Haley pulled the money out from between his gloves and counted—slowly. After a few minutes she figured it all added up to around five-hundred dollars. She nodded and pocketed the cash, "It's more than enough, sweetie."

She walked around the front of the van and hopped in, enjoying the warmth of the car and setting her hands against the hot air blowing out of the air vents. They drove away from her corner down the dark paved roads of the New York slums, past all the grungy apartment buildings and strip clubs, past the bars and gas stations that looked like they were moments away from falling apart. It seemed so desolate and deserted—the buildings reflecting the people that resided inside of them.

Haley rubbed her arms briskly and pushed her hair behind both ears, her eyes flickering over to the massive man beside her every few seconds.

Realizing her toe had been tapping restlessly against the underside of the airbag, she pressed her feet together under the seat. After about thirty-seconds though, the same frenetic rhythm was being silently kept on the balls of her feet.

Haley would be lying if she didn't say she was feeling edgy. This guy was Goliath-huge and just by looking at his enormous frame she knew it would hurt to be with him. She grimaced. Sometimes, when they're giving it to her, she can pretend she's somewhere else—she can just close her eyes and imagine a beautiful grassy field with wildflowers and lilac and puffy white clouds floating in the sky. In the field she dances and sings and runs and screams and cries . . . and sometimes, she can even _smell_ the flowers and the sun.

But tonight, she won't be able to escape, she knows it.

It'll hurt too much.

She looked back to the man, tipping her head to the side, "Why's your face covered?"

Haley really didn't mind if he was ugly—she'd been with plenty worse. She wondered if he was young like her. Usually the men were in their late thirties and forties, some crack-heads and others lonely husbands who weren't satisfied by their wives at home. Her fingers twitched to pull off the obstructive attire, her loamy brown eyes narrowing in curiosity.

He jumped at the sound of her voice, his head swerving to the side.

"What?"

"Why're you wearing all that stuff on your face?"

He cleared his throat, "I—uh, it's a cold night and, you know, I don't wanna . . . catch a cold."

Haley raised a brow, unable to stop her lips from twitching into a smile, "A cold?"

"Yeah," he nodded dramatically, his head tipping to the side. She felt his gaze rake up her body, viscerally shucking off her clothes like a tight glove and raising goose bumps over her skin like a sudden racing summer shower. It was no more than a second, but somehow time stopped as a feeling of fascination and curiosity overwhelmed her, his attention unfurling over her like a firm and impious caress. She frowned, chanting through her mind, over and over and over again the word that haunted her at night and weighted on her shoulders each day.

Prostitute.

Nothing more, nothing less.

This guy seemed friendly enough and had a calming and easy-going demeanor, but she knew what he wanted, what he was buying from her . . . and so she slowly shut down, leaning her chin on her hand and staring out the passenger-side window, watching the city pass by.

They finally stopped along several somber-colored warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks, padlocked for the night. The south side of the street had no sidewalk, only a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire protecting some kind of engine parts storage yard. The street was lined on both sides by blank, door-less, windowless buildings. She could see in the distance (two intersections down) streetlamps, cars, and more pedestrians, but they were all too far away. Haley frowned, "You aren't gonna kill me here, are you?"

She heard a loud, animated laugh from under the man's scarf, the car shifting with his weight as he hopped out of the van. "Nah, I'm not gonna kill you, Angel-face—just wanted some privacy."

She slowly nodded, surprised when he came around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. He was even bigger then she expected, towering over her five-foot-two frame by over a head. His form was thick and powerful and defined, similar to a wrestler yet somehow held a certain . . . grace, almost as though he was moving underwater. His slinking steps forward toward the warehouse were confident and masculine, like a lion.

Haley followed behind silently, missing the warmth of the car the moment the cool night air made contact with her naked skin. Her heels clicked against the silence and her hands ran up and down her freezing arms as he pulled open one of the doors.

"After you, my lady," he bowed with a posh English accent, though it sounded a bit nervous. Haley's lips twisted into a small smile.

In the far corner of the cement room was a double bed that was neatly made and beside that a chest of drawers with a pair of workman's boots set neatly beside it and crowned with a scuffed hard hat. Along the wall to the right wall were two doorways: an ancient kitchen evident through one and a dark tiny bathroom through the other. Along the front of the house was a battered couch and a weight set. But the main (and only) focus of the room was a huge old wooden desk on the far wall with a folding chair before it.

"Is this where you live?" Haley asked.

The man only shook his head, backing up against the door and closing it with his broad shoulders as he leaned against it.

She sighed and sat on the bed, slipping off her heels and pushing back her hair, "So what's your name, lover?"

"You can call me, Mikey."

"I'm, Haley."

She looked up to find Mikey suddenly pacing the room, wringing his hands together and looking back and forth between her and the door. She could practically see the nerves radiating off of his massive form, "I shouldn't be doing this," he mutters. "If Sensei finds out I'm gonna be in the_ hachi _for like, thirty years but I . . . I've never . . . I can't, but I _need _to . . ."

"Hey, you alright?"

He turned to her so abruptly that she jumped, "I look . . . different," he blurted.

The blonde smiled softly, "You couldn't be that bad."

She watched as he slowly reached up toward the mask, "Just, please promise not to freak out. I promise I won't hurt you." His tone was desperate and Haley found something akin to pity warm her stomach. She could see his fingers trembling and she realized what a big deal this was to him.

"You don't have to be afraid," she whispered, moving to her feet and pushing back her hair. "I promise I won't freak out."

After a painstaking moment, his shaking hands slowly removed his mask, glasses, coat . . .

And Haley gasped.

She really couldn't do anything but stand there—her feet simply grew roots in the ground. The stranger's body slowly straightened, inch by inch, muscles and sinew twitching with tension like a bungee cord pulled far too tight. Those massive shoulders pulled back, lifting stony pecs along with them and making the musculature ripple down his plastron in a coordinated shudder like dominos.

Haley's swallow made a strange squeaking sound in her throat.

"You're a . . . a . . . you're a . . ."

"A mutant turtle."

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_okay, so you're probably thinking, 'uh, mikey, why are you trying to hook up with a prostitute?' well, you'll have to find out later in the story. a little hint: imagine having the hormones of a normal seventeen year old, but having no release. the kid is bound to get desperate. lol. sorry for how crappy this is! i'll be editing once the story is over so bare with me!_

_**R&R**_

_**/this story is also posted on another teenage mutant ninja turtles archive/**_


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